The Secret Notebook Read online

  Her insides lurched at the memory of all the love she’d sketched into his features; it was just his neck and shoulders, but it was the light she’d captured in his eyes that made her breath hitch even now.

  His eyes followed her, closed just a little against the hazy sunshine. It was a very sensual look.

  A powerful memory of the two of them relaxing beside the sand dunes close to Starr Gate on a warm summer day hit her. In those days, she took her sketch pad everywhere, stashed along with pencils and a towel in her rucksack. All that mattered then was being outdoors, taking a dip, loving the endless warm days, and Justin. They’d had no cares, no responsibilities, no bills to pay or homes to take care of. They could just … be.

  Taped in the back of her pad was a photograph of Justin that she’d taken around the same time as sketching him, something she habitually did if she wanted to re-do or add to a work in progress.

  Setting down the sketch pad, Izzie grabbed her phone to take a picture of the sketch of Justin.

  Later, when Justin called around, he ducked in out of the torrential rain. ‘Maybe we should put that walk off until later? It’s going to clear up.’

  ‘Sure.’ Izzie suggested they have a cuppa and a read of Molly’s notebook until the weather improved.

  ‘Lead the way,’ was Justin’s response.

  Chapter Eleven

  Molly

  Blackpool, Friday February 18, 1944

  My Dear Jack,

  * * *

  I loved reading your letter and look forward to you coming here on the 26th. I’m going to hear the Banns for the third time this coming Sunday morning.

  * * *

  I will see if I can get a photograph for when you visit and hope that I might be able to get one of you, too.

  * * *

  I will never be able to thank you enough for saving me in this way, at least hopefully now the nightmares I have about having to marry Denis, or someone like him, will stop.

  * * *

  I can’t wait to see you. Sorry this is short, but Enid is calling for help. I’ll write more soon.

  * * *

  Take care and please stay safe.

  * * *

  With fondest wishes,

  * * *

  Molly.

  Dear Diary,

  I told our boarding house guests that Jack and I were getting married on the Saturday and we’d be having a small lunch to celebrate here in the guest house dining room. I asked Enid if we could invite everyone along since they were due to be here anyway. She muttered that it would be more like an ordinary lunchtime, but brightened up a bit when I told her I’d be getting some extra ham from the butcher specially for the wedding.

  Matt thinks he will able to get away from Warton, to come and take some photographs. Dora was excited by that prospect, too.

  The thought of seeing Jack is like a ball of excitement sitting in my chest just waiting to explode out with a mixture of nervousness and happiness. I feel such gratitude, such warmth towards him and I recollect him drawing his life-like sketches; I love the one he gave me, I should ask him to do one of himself to put here in my notebook, alongside mine.

  Chapter Twelve

  Molly

  Blackpool, Saturday February 26, 1944

  Word of our upcoming wedding spread like wildfire around the neighbours.

  Everyone I knew seemed to make themselves available to help towards the preparations. It was so uplifting. Lilian, the newly taken on helper at the boarding house, insisted on coming along early in the morning to make extra sandwiches for lunch, a cake from her ferreted away supplies – her wedding gift to us she called it – and freshly baked scones.

  The grocer found us extra rations, and the butcher handed over a wodge of ham wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘Everybody gets ham for their wedding day, and seeing how you are a special customer, I’ve put a bit extra in. Only don’t tell anyone.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

  I had expected to have to do everything myself from scratch, but a few local ladies turned up along with Lilian, Dora, Dora’s mum and Enid, and none of them arrived empty-handed.

  One of the ladies carried a bunch of joyous daffodils, fresh and colourful, picked from her garden, she’d wrapped them in a doily type handhold after surrounding them with some greenery and baby’s breath. ‘These are for you to carry down the aisle.’

  I was thrilled, Dear Diary; yellow flowers are so joyous.

  They all mucked in and busied themselves and Enid seemed almost happy for once directing operations.

  At that point, as the pushed-together tables heaved with all manner of food, Dora suggested it was time to get ready. We took the flowers and wedding dress and made our way over to her house where I could get ready away from the preparations.

  Dora helped to take out the rollers I’d worn overnight, and then teased my hair into a Betty Grable style, curled under in a victory roll. It was lacquered into place so that even a high Blackpool wind wouldn’t budge a hair on my head. That was the hope.

  There were no visible signs of my pregnancy and it was fortunate, too, that the nausea had stopped for the main part.

  Dora helped to put on my lovely mum’s dress and the silk fabric of the lining floated downward, soft and warm against my skin. The gauzy overdress had embroidery across the yoke and across the hips, the style reminiscent of a 1920s flapper.

  The headdress was a simple band, a silk flower stitched on the top right. A shoulder-length veil flowed backwards from the head band.

  The shoes I wore were simple white court shoes, borrowed from Dora. I thought of the something old as being my mum’s dress, and the something blue was a little blue prayer book gifted to me by my mum’s late brother, Charles, who had also once lived in Royton. That life that could have been a hundred years ago, it seemed so far in the past now, but no less poignant. I closed my eyes and thought of my close family for a moment, all lost now.

  As we joined Marian in the kitchen for her seal of approval, she presented me with a bottle of sherry.

  ‘I found it tucked away under the stairs! I’d no idea it was there.’ She smiled. ‘It’ll warm you up on your walk to church, Molly, and settle your nerves.’

  Marian poured each of us a small glass. ‘I’ll bring what’s left to the wedding lunch,’ she said.

  She had also unearthed a dramatic-looking bottle of scent, the stopper like a three-pointed crown, the smell extremely pleasant – she said it was bergamot-scented. I dabbed it on my wrists, behind my ears and behind my knees. I never really knew why this was the place to put scent, but I’d seen my mum doing it years ago and that was good enough reason for me.

  There was absolutely no point in having a car, even if we could have got hold of one; fuel was in short supply.

  Dora’s dad, Bill, had offered to walk me to the church and down the aisle once we were ready, and I accepted. It seemed fitting since he and my dad had been friends.

  The church was only a short walk away and I pulled on my warmest coat, buttoned it up and enjoyed the stroll at Bill’s side wearing my mum’s wedding dress. My dearest friend, Dora, was with me too, her mum beside us, carrying the flowers. The air smelled so clean and fresh this close to the sea, and that raised my spirits.

  As we walked towards the church, neighbours – mostly boarding house landladies – and young children stood out on their doorsteps to watch and wave and shout their good wishes.

  I smiled and waved and let myself be carried along on a ridiculous rush of excitement and relief that the baby would have a father. I was still finding it hard to believe, that I was about to be married to someone I hardly knew, and yet, I was so very grateful to Jack whose letters had already begun to melt my heart.

  So many emotions crashed around inside me.

  I found it difficult to walk because I wanted to run, and at the same time I could hardly put one foot in front of the other because I was so excited, so terribly nervous. This had to be the right thing to do, I told the wisp
y concerns trying to force their way into my thoughts.

  I wondered secretly, as I entered the church and removed my coat, if the reverend, like every other mere mortal, enjoyed the opportunity to rejoice and simply be happy during this very dark time for so many.

  I was pleasantly surprised to see there were far more folk than I’d expected in the pews, their chatter quieting when the vicar cleared his throat and looked up towards us, giving a slight nod.

  The breath caught in my throat when I looked up to the top of the aisle. Jack was there and he wore full RAF uniform, a small smile twitching his mouth. Sideways on, he looked so handsome and again, I had that strange sensation where I wanted to hurry but could only walk very slowly. I felt as though my shoes were weighted, slowing me down.

  I had already told the reverend that neither Jack nor I had rings to exchange, we had no money to buy them. He had not been fazed.

  I could barely believe my eyes, then, when we reached the part of the service where rings were exchanged, and Bill Howarth passed a small gold band to the vicar. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep tears from spilling down. I did not dare look anywhere but at the ring. Then, unbidden, my eyes flicked to Jack’s. He gave a nod and a smile, and I thought if it was possible for a heart to explode with happiness then mine would.

  Jack slid the ring onto my finger, accompanied by the words, ‘With this ring I thee wed…’ How I managed my responses past the walnut-sized lump in my throat I really don’t know. But I did, and our responses rang out loud and clear, witnessed by the congregation.

  A little later, as we signed the register and the vicar wrote out our marriage certificate, he apologised for the shortness of the ceremony.

  ‘I find that without an organ to accompany the hymns, it is far better to keep the singing to a minimum.’

  I don’t know why but that made me laugh. ‘It was a lovely ceremony, Reverend; it could not have been better. Thank you.’ The piano music was fine. It was in desperate need of tuning, but things like that came low on any list of priorities these days.

  I had another surprise once we made our way out of the church and into the hazy February sunlight. Matt had hurried out before us and was there with his Box Brownie facing our way. He used an entire film taking pictures of the entire wedding party. First Jack and myself, then Dora and her mum and dad. And even Enid posed for one with us. Then Bill took one with Dora, Matt, myself and Jack.

  Matt’s handsome face broke into a wonderful sunny smile, and holding the Box Brownie camera against his chest, he dropped a kiss on Dora’s cheek. That Dora was thrilled with Matt’s presence was clear, in fact they both disappeared around the side of the church for a short while, Dora’s cheeks a few shades pinker when she reappeared, straightening her long auburn hair.

  After, Matt shook Jack’s hand and congratulated us both, and said he would join us all for a bite to eat to celebrate before making his way back to Warton.

  ‘I will get these developed for you both, Mr and Mrs Blackshaw, then you’ll have them to add to your collection.’

  It didn’t seem real.

  My name had changed.

  My life had changed.

  We held hands once Jack had lit his cigarette and took a slow walk back to the Bing Lea for our wedding lunch.

  I asked him as we took the last few steps down Banks Street towards the boarding house, ‘Do you have a favourite name? One for a boy, one for a girl?’

  ‘It should be your choice; but I’ve always liked the name Tom for a boy. If it’s a girl…’ He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then gave a little grimace. ‘Maybe you should choose?’

  ‘I like Tom, too. And, well, maybe you’ll be home before the baby comes along. If it is a little girl, we can choose a name together.’

  The lunch went well, tea cups were raised to toast Jack and I, and to wish us a long and happy life together. Inside, I prayed silently that Jack would stay safe when so many didn’t.

  We cut the Victoria sponge cake made by Lilian, and everyone had a bit to finish off. At that point, Jack suggested it was time we went to the Pleasure Beach to begin our honeymoon.

  Many of the guests needed to get back to their jobs in any case, having extended their lunch breaks quite a bit already.

  Enveloped in the warmth of good wishes, we thanked the guests for coming and I hurried up to my room to change out of my wedding dress and put a few belongings into a weekend bag for the hotel room booked on the prom for Saturday and Sunday night. It was Bill, Marian and family’s thoughtful wedding gift to us.

  ‘It’s been such a wonderful day, Jack,’ I said as I snuggled up beside him on the tram seat on our way to check into the hotel, ‘and you – you are a wonderful man for making this happen. I’m so lucky.’

  Jack put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to his side. ‘Hey…’ He passed me his handkerchief. ‘I’m the lucky one, Molly.’ He spoke whilst I mopped at the tears of joy flooding down my cheeks, I swear I could have melted from the warmth of his smile. ‘I promise you’ll never regret marrying me, I’ll always take care of you.’

  ‘And I you, Mr Blackshaw.’

  Dear God, I have never been happier.

  Dear Diary, life is sweet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Izzie

  Blackpool, Sunday July 2, 2017

  Justin took their cups into the kitchen to make them a coffee.

  Izzie looked for a long time at the black and white wedding photograph of Molly and Jack.

  Jack looked so handsome, Molly so happy and beautiful. Their faces were close to one another, in profile, as they laughed together. Just looking at the photograph was enough to raise a smile at their obvious joy in being together.

  She let her thoughts stay with Molly and Jack. They were so happy, and it reminded her of when she was younger, visiting them when she was little and her nan and granddad were forever laughing and joking.

  Grandpop had loved to tease Nan and the memory of her chasing him around the bungalow and waving a slipper around threatening to ‘tan his hide’ whilst he laughed and then stopped suddenly to face her and said, ‘Problem is, Molly, I might enjoy it!’ Most days with the two of them were punctuated with laughter – and real happiness.

  Looking back and remembering how things were between them, made her want that for herself. She wanted that strong powerful love, that crazy laughter, that invisible thread between two souls that never weakened with time. It just grew stronger.

  Could she ever have that much fun with a partner? Could she imagine that wonderful laughter ringing around the house, making everyone who heard it smile with pure enjoyment at witnessing such a close bond?

  When she closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in the same scenario with anyone, it was Justin who turned and laughingly tormented her, laughed with her, lit her insides with happiness like she had never known…

  She shook her head, took a breath against the worm of guilt because surely, it should have been Rufus she imagined?

  Was she in danger of transferring the feelings she’d had for Rufus to Justin? She’d read about that sort of thing happening after losing someone, or breaking up with a long-term partner.

  Or … had it been the other way around? Had the feelings she’d originally had for Justin been cut off, then transferred to Rufus but in a different form?

  It had all been so unfinished with Justin, the ending messy, one that remained unresolved. Unaired.

  With a huge mental effort, she pushed the thoughts aside in order to enjoy the photograph and Molly’s words…

  Then she snapped out of her trance-like state when Justin joined her again and they continued to read the notebook.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Molly

  Blackpool, Saturday February 26, 1944

  My Dear Diary,

  Jack and I visited the Pleasure Beach, rode on the scary Grand National roller coaster, a ride on which two carriages chase alongside one another around the wooden
track, speeding up and down the hair-raising rises and dips. I screamed all the way around and hung on for dear life, terrified. When it stopped, I turned to Jack, gasping for breath, and asked, ‘Can we go around again?’

  He laughed heartily at that, called me crazy.

  Then we went around again.

  We rode on a tram to Squires Gate and then walked amongst the sand dunes, the sound of aircraft louder there than further north. It was warmer amongst the spiky marram grass and we sank down out of the wind against the shelter of the dunes and Jack put his arm around my shoulder. I smiled up at him, noticed for the first time that his eyes were very slightly darker than his brother’s, and they sparkled with warmth. I’d to take a deep breath against the rising emotion, the overwhelming gratitude and growing love I felt for him.

  My husband.

  ‘I’ll make you happy, Jack, I will.’ I wanted him to know I didn’t ever want him to regret this marriage between us.

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘You already have, Molly.’

  I stretched up so our lips met and we shared our first, real, married kiss. I had the shock of my life.

  The sensations travelling through me were all-consuming, heated and tingling crazily all at once.

  All my worries about marrying Jack sank without trace. I knew in that moment of clarity that what I’d shared with Joe was flimsy compared to this feeling. It had little foundation, no solid roots. It had been a physical attraction.

  What I felt for Jack was deeper, it was the beginnings of real love. He was kind, funny and my hero. Through his letters and the way in which he’d stepped up to take care of me and the coming baby, I had fallen in love with this wonderful man. He had given me a second chance at having the life I wanted, demanding nothing for himself. And he had saved me from the fate of being an outcast. I knew that I could trust him more than I had ever trusted anyone.